All my Channels
by wuemsel
Summary: Hutch is addicted. Starsky tries to help.


After having been exposed to the main topic of this read for the past four months, I just couldn't help myself.

Special thanks to Tam for letting me study her for this story (and for the beta). I bet there's hope for you, too, buddy, honest.

**Warnings:** Mention of "All my Children" and wildlife documentaries.

**Disclaimer:** I own neither the show nor the audience.

Enjoy!

**All my Channels**

_by wuemsel_

"I still don't get whose children they all are," Starsky said and sat back down in the chair next to the couch. He opened the beer he'd gotten from the fridge and took a sip.

Hutch watched enviously and glanced at the cooling tea in its cup on the coffee table. It had been a week since he'd been released from the hospital, and it would probably be another month before he could have beer again, too. Thank God he could rely on Starsky to diminish the source of temptation in his fridge.

"Shh," he said, then felt compelled to add, "It's metaphorical. They're the writer's children."

Starsky frowned. "How do you know that?"

"TV guide."

"Really? Huh."

They watched in engrossed silence for a moment.

"She's not really pregnant," Starsky pointed out at a particular scene.

"Yeah, I don't think so, either," Hutch agreed.

"No, I mean, we know she's not. It was in the part you missed yesterday, when you fell asleep. Forgot to tell you. Your feet are not covered."

Shooting Starsky a scowl, Hutch dragged his feet back under the blanket and shifted his head on the pillow to get a better view at the screen. "I knew she was lying. She's been after Chuck's money from the get-go. That whole wedding is just a farce."

"Yeah."

"Did I miss anything else?"

Starsky thought about it. "No, I don't think so. Cliff told Nina he slept with Angie."

"Yeah, I saw that."

"Okay. Then, no."

"'Kay."

They watched in silence. Starsky took another sip, glancing at Hutch.

"Hey Hutch?" he asked once the commercials started.

"Yes?"

At Hutch's expectant, completely unsuspecting expression, Starsky averted his eyes. He felt mean. "You know... I've been, um... I've been thinking..." He sighed. Looked up. "You'll be okay to go back to work in a bit, you know."

Hutch frowned, one corner of his mouth curling up in a smile. "Let's hope so. Why, what's the problem? You've been seeing other partners while I was out of the game?"

Starsky's smile was fleeting. It wasn't a joking matter. "It's just... have you thought about that... Well, that we sometimes work at this hour? When we both work, I mean. I mean, usually. Right? Like, we usually work in the afternoon. At the precinct. Or out on the streets, when we're not in the precinct. But at this time we work. When neither of us is sick, that is." He stopped his rambling to see if any of this was getting through to Hutch and continued, "So if you were okay again... now, we'd be working. Now. Every weekday," he added with extra emphasis.

Giving Hutch the opportunity to process all those information, he lifted his beer for a gulp.

Hutch watched him, apparently waiting to see if Starsky was through and asked, "Did you take my pills, while you were in the kitchen?"

Starsky sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I expected this," he said gravely. "You're in denial. I understand that. What I mean, Hutch," he leaned forward in his chair, "is that in about a week or so, you won't be able to watch this," he gestured at the tv screen without looking, "anymore."

He paused, waiting again. "Ever. Unless it runs for forty years. Or you get sick again. Which you won't, 'cause you promised me."

As the words sank in, a shadow rushed over Hutch's features. Almost fearfully, he glanced at the screen, then cast Starsky a forced smile. "I know that."

"Do you?" Starsky asked carefully.

"Starsk," Hutch snapped and drew in a deep breath as if to calm himself. "This is ridiculous. You make it sound like I'm addicted. To a soap opera," he clarified.

At that moment, commercials stopped and a woman in a neglige burst into tears.

The detectives turned their focus to the screen again. Minutes went by, filled with a sobbed confession from the woman.

"Are you?" Starsky suddenly asked.

Hutch didn't answer.

"Hutch?"

"I can't believe she's protecting Tad like that," Hutch said. "Doesn't she know by now he's screwing Liza AND Marian?"

"Hutch, did you hear what... Marian, too?"

Hutch nodded.

"Jeez. What an ass. And she really loves him." Starsky shook his head. "Sad." He sighed. "You're still addicted, though."

"Hm?" Apparently fighting a gravity-like force gluing his gaze to the screen, Hutch very slowly turned his head to look at him. "What?"

"You heard me."

"Oh you... Starsky, come on. It's a soap opera! I don't even LIKE soap operas. Hell, I don't like television!" Hutch shook his head with a snort and turned back to the screen.

"Okay, then I want to watch the game," Starsky decided, and to underline the masculinity of that sentence drained his beer.

Hutch frowned. "What game?"

"The game that's on right now, which we are not watching, because we are watching a soap opera that you're addicted to."

"I'm not addicted, and what game?"

"The game," Starsky repeated impatiently.

"What sport?" Hutch specified, speaking very slowly and emphatically, as was his habit when he got bitchy.

"Who cares, man?!" Starsky exclaimed, exasperated. "Golf, at this point! Can't you see what's happening to you? I remember a Hutch who knew every game that was on off the top of his head." He V'ed his brows. "Whatever happened to that Hutch? Hm? Can you tell me?"

"Seriously, you didn't take my pills, did you? Remember what happened last-"

"Gimme that," Starsky snapped and snatched the remote control off the couch before Hutch had a chance to grab it. "There." He switched the channel to a wildlife docmentary.

"No, wait! Star... Oh my God."

Fascinated and appalled, the detectives watched a group of meerkats attack a large crocodile. The poor creature did not stand a chance.

Hutch swallowed thickly. He looked at the cold tea and gave the cup a little shove, just because.

"I didn't know meerkats could do that," Starsky said after a moment. "They look so... harmless."

"I think crocs are under wildlife protection," Hutch said.

"Tell that to the meerkats, buddy. Gee." Cringing, Starsky backed away a little in his chair. "I bet they sell its skin afterward."

"Yeah. Can we watch the rest of my show now? We'll never find out if Brooke will remember the night of Larry's murder."

The request brought Starsky back to his mission. Pretending not to have heard, he intently focused on the massacre on the screen again.

"If you were an animal, what'd you be?" he asked, as if absently.

"Not a crocodile," Hutch replied. "Starsk, give me the remote. C'mon, it's only twenty more minutes."

"No, seriously," Starsky said and put the remote down in his lap. "What would you be? I read about that in 'Psychology today'."

Hutch sighed resignedly. "I like dogs," he said, pointedly NOT inquiring about the exact content of the afore-mentioned article.

"Yeah, but you're not a dog person," Starsky pondered. "I mean, you are, of course, but you're not the kind of person who'd be a dog, if they were an animal, you know what I mean."

"I really don't, no. And I like dogs."

"I know. But that's not the point. You're not LIKE a dog."

"Well, I'm human."

"You're not putting any effort into this," Starsky complained.

Hutch rolled his eyes. "Okay, then, what do you think I'd be?"

"I can't decide that for you. It's what YOU feel you'd be. Like, I think I'd be an eagle."

"An eagle," Hutch repeated wryly.

Starsky grinned. Nodded.

"Subtlety doesn't do anything for you, does it, Starsk?"

"What, you don't think I'd be a good eagle?"

"Actually," Hutch said, furrowing his brows as he studied Starsky, "you'd make a pretty good dog yourself. A terrier. Or a collie. 'Timmy fell into the well,'" he said in a squeaky voice, "'and now no one's there to feed me, and I'm hungry. Woof.'"

"Lassie breathed in helium on the way?"

Hutch wasn't impressed. "I can't help it if you sound ridiculous as a dog, can I?"

"I'd be an eagle," Starsky told him. "Or," he added with a glance at the screen, "maybe a meerkat."

Hutch watched him and shook his head curtly, as if to clear it. "I'd be the Loch Ness Monster," he said and slid down a little into his nest of blankets.

"What?"

"The Loch Ness Monster. I'd like that. Whole lake for myself. No collies. And I'd be famous." He grinned.

"That's not an animal," Starsky decided.

"Of course it is. It's a dinosaur."

"It's a monster," Starsky corrected. "Mosters aren't animals."

"What are they, people?"

"They're MONSTERS. It's a species of its own. Like Bigfoot. Bigfoot isn't an animal, is he?"

Hutch frowned, thinking. "You know, I think he is."

Starsky blinked, surprised. "Really? I thought it was a man."

"With big feet?" Hutch smiled.

"Well, no, just... yes."

"Mm-hmm. Can we watch the rest of my show now?"

"No, we're going to watch the game." Picking up the remote again, Starsky switched channels, passing three different talk shows and a weather report before settling for a bridge game.

"We're going to watch bridge?" Hutch asked after a moment.

Starsky wasn't listening. "Do you sometimes wonder why people put some stuff on television?" he asked, head tilted as he watched, spellbound.

"All the time. Starsk, my show is almost over. Could we at least watch the-"

"Do you think people bet on bridge? Like they do with football?"

"Yes," Hutch replied, surrendering to the fact that he would not get to watch the end of his show. "I think a lot of people do. Huge sums, too."

"Really?" Starsky asked, interested.

"Yup. But you have to be British to bet. It's the law."

"Damn." Starsky switched the channel once more and widened his eyes when he found a baseball game. "Oh hey! There IS a game! Look at that!"

"College baseball," Hutch observed.

"But it's a game!"

"It's college baseball," Hutch repeated, then frowned, when something caught his eye. Leaning forward, he lifted himself up on one elbow. "And it's girls."

"What're you... Holy shit it is." Putting the remote down again, Starsky leaned back and folded his arms in front of him. "That's repulsive. I feel offended."

"Me too," Hutch agreed, watching the screen.

"It's the last bastion of masculinity," Starsky pointed out. "They're taking Fort Testosterone."

"I think that'd be football," Hutch said.

Starsky considered that. "True."

A homerun occured.

"That still doesn't make it okay," Starsky observed.

"That was a really good pitch," Hutch said.

"No, I meant that it's not football. It's still part of our field. Metaphorically."

"Maybe so, but that redhead is really... fast."

"Oh, yeah, she is." Starsky grinned. "I hope her team wins."

"Me too."

They watched in silence for a while. Starsky went to get another beer.

"So," he asked during a commercial break, "what're we gonna do about your soap opera addiction?"

Hutch sighed. He had retrieved the remote, while Starsky had been in the kitchen and was flipping to 'the Muppet Show'. "I'm not addicted."

"I'm just worri-"

"And I'm gonna get a VCR."

"A VC... really, Hutch, that's..." Trailing off, Starsky pursed his lips and took a sip from his beer. "Will you tape bridge for me?"

"What're partners for?"

"Cool."

He settled in his chair, bottle lifted and watched Hutch hum along to the song Kermit was performing on the screen.

"I think the commercials are over," he eventually said. "Come on, Hutch, I have a feeling our team's gonna win."

"They'd better, or I'll stop supporting them," Hutch said, changing the channel.

"You're just not a real fan like I am," Starsky observed. "Even when we suffer, we're just happy to be able to wa-"

"Starsk," Hutch cut him off, "shut up and watch."

And Starsky did, and their team won.

**THE END**


End file.
